


several sunlit days

by mysterytwin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Kageyama, Unrequited Love, lots of pining!!!, theres a bit of kuroken and bokuaka if you squint, theyre 2nd years here, theyre just dumb pining dorks and i love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 17:22:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18370619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterytwin/pseuds/mysterytwin
Summary: Tobio watches as the golden hour places its rays on Hinata’s hair, turning him into firelight, reminiscent of a beautiful summer afternoon. Hinata stays like that for the rest of the ride, face buried in the crook of Tobio’s neck, snoring softly.Hinata is the first beautiful thing that’s captivated Tobio’s attention since he first played volleyball, and it’s then that Tobio decides that he doesn’t really mind getting stuck on him.Five times Kageyama wanted to kiss Hinata, and the one time he actually does.





	several sunlit days

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE THESE PINING FOOLS!!!!!!
> 
> this is also my first fic in months so please be gentle thank you

_Love stutters when it gets nervous, love trips over its own shoelaces._

_Love is clumsy, and my heart refuses to wear a helmet._

_[\- Rudy Fransisco](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C1KQjS9kmbQ) _

 

The very first time it happens, it comes quick and hard, hitting him like a freight train steered off course.

There is no warning, no calm before the storm, no flare signal that tells him it’s coming. Tobio is caught off guard and hopelessly confused and shaken, the wind knocked out of his lungs. His heart is beating loud against his chest, threatening to leave his ribcage with a single breath.

Because Hinata had just been standing there, looking incandescent and happier than Tobio’s seen him in a while, cheeks flushed with victory. They won another match, against a team he suddenly can’t remember the name of, and Hinata is beaming, blindingly bright. Tobio had always been taught to never look directly at the sun, but he’s finding that he doesn’t want to ever look away.

He looks like summer, bright days and fresh grass, sunflower fields and bubbly laughter. His cheeks are flushed, his hair the color of candlelight, eyes electric and grounding. Tobio knows he should look away before Hinata catches him, should instead focus on the colored rainbow of the crowd, but he can’t. Not now, not when he’s wondering what it would it be like to press against Hinata’s side, take his hand, pull him close, and _kiss_ him—

His mind stops functioning then and there.

Because—what the hell? Where did that come from? He’s never wanted to kiss Hinata before—he’s never wanted to kiss _anyone_ before. It’s always just been volleyball, the only thing his mind ever thinks about, _the only thing he’s ever gotten stuck on_ —but now it feels different because he’d very much like to kiss Hinata. And this feels weird, feels so new and surreal, because Hinata is his best friend, the only one who stayed when others didn’t.

But even still, even if he knows that he should probably quit while he’s ahead, wipe the blush off his cheeks, he finds himself settling into a sense of rightness, of coming home. Because he’s come to the realization that liking Hinata is something that could only naturally, easy like the breeze on a summer’s day, and it feels as if things are falling into place. He never really noticed until now, that there were _feelings_ , that somewhere along the line he’d began to feel something else.

(Because really, if he’s being honest, if Tobio had to choose anyone he’d like to kiss, he doesn’t really mind it being Hinata.)

“Oi, Kageyama!” Hinata yells and he’s running through the court, both hands raised.

Tobio raises his own, and their hands meet in a high five. His palms sting from the contact.

Hinata is bouncing, and Tobio’s sure nothing could bring him down right now. “Ennoshita says he’s treating us to pork buns!” he tells Tobio. “Then Ukai-sensei said we can choose whatever drink from his store we like.”

Tobio cracks a smile. “I’m gonna eat way more pork buns that you,” he challenges.

Hinata’s eyes shift, eyebrows narrowed in determination, the same reckless one he gets before a match, or when they’re racing through the streets. It’s _cute_. Tobio resists the urge to kiss him again.

Nothing has to change, he reminds himself. Nothing has to change between them, he doesn’t have to lose this.

He doesn’t need to lose something he just found.

“Fifty,” Hinata declares, fiery and sure and steady. “I’m gonna eat fifty pork buns.”

“Dumbass,” Tobio says—and no, his voice is not _fond_ , not even the slightest bit—and he forces a smile back down. “Ennoshita probably doesn’t have enough money for that.”

“ _Still_ ,” Hinata says. “I’m gonna beat you.”

“No, you won’t,” Tobio denies, crossing his arms.

Hinata takes another step forward, an inch closer. “Yes, I will.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

“No, you won’t,” Tobio says. “I’ve probably eaten more pork buns that you have in your entire life—”

“Are you two seriously arguing about _pork buns_?” Tsukishima interrupts, face drawn into a scowl. “How dumb could you get?”

Hinata sticks his tongue out. “You’re just jealous.”

“Ah, yes, because I’m definitely jealous of having no brain cells.”

Tobio glares at him. “Come on,” he mutters to Hinata, and they follow Tsukishima’s retreating figure out of the gym.

(If Tobio’s fingers twitch as his hand brushes with Hinata’s as they walk, he doesn’t say anything.)

(And if Hinata rests his head on Tobio’s shoulder as he sleeps on the bus, well, no one definitely needs to know.)

Tobio watches as the golden hour places its rays on Hinata’s hair, turning him into firelight, reminiscent of a beautiful summer afternoon. Hinata stays like that for the rest of the ride, face buried in the crook of Tobio’s neck, snoring softly.

Hinata is the first beautiful thing that’s captivated Tobio’s attention since he first played volleyball, and it’s then that Tobio decides that he doesn’t really mind getting stuck on him.

 

* * *

 

The thing about liking someone, Tobio soon learns, is that it is nearly impossible not to be hyper aware of each point of contact. It’s bearable most of the time; a light tap on his shoulder, a tug on his arm, fingers wrapped around his wrist. Palms pressed briefly against each other after a successful quick, an arm around his shoulders when Hinata attempts to stand taller on his toes, fingers brushing on the walk home. They’re easy to miss, small and brief touches that are usually so normal, so casual, that it’s halfway driving him crazy that he notices each and every single one of them, leaving him wanting a little more each and every time.

(Has Hinata always been this touchy, or is Tobio just wishfully projecting?)

The morning rays stream through the curtain softly, carefully, sunlight flowing through like a gentle stream. There are birds chirping quietly outside, their tune the song of the wind. The bed is soft underneath his skin, the blankets pulled all the way to his chest. Tobio tugs on it, bringing it a little closer.

His eyes creak open slowly, and he’s met with a vibrant shade of orange. It’s hair, he realizes, blinking repeatedly—Hinata’s hair.

Oh.

Hinata’s face is mere inches away from his own, eyes shut and mouth slightly open. He looks so peaceful, unbothered by the world around him. There is a softness to him that isn’t normally there when he’s awake, the morning light catching his face in its gentle hold. There’s a bit of drool on his chin, his breathing steady. Tobio could probably count the number of his eyelashes, could probably trace the way they curve into his skin. He tries not to focus on a stray eyelash that had fallen into his cheek, tries not to focus on how long they are, creating tiny shadows under his skin. You’d never really notice until you looked too close, but Hinata has freckles that dot his skin, pinpricks on a boy who could fly without worrying about falling.

He still looks like summer, the days stretching on without end, filled with tranquility and a hint of recklessness. A boy of the sun, even asleep the world continues to orbit around him.

Tobio is pulled to his gravity, to his North, like a compass with the stars to guide him home.

He imagines what it would be like to be able to kiss him.

And that is dangerous territory, he reminds himself. Because nothing has to change between them, he doesn’t have to lose anything to the butterflies in his stomach.

This isn’t the first time they’ve woken up together, legs tangled under the blanket, Hinata’s arm thrown over Tobio’s chest. They’ve had many sleepovers before this one, with Hinata complaining about the cold before either of them can even sleep—because yes, it’s a very valid reason to cuddle, thank you very much—and placing him against Tobio’s side, warm and firm. This isn’t the first time, and he knows this, but it almost feels like it is.

Tobio is still looking at Hinata, and he’d very, very much like to kiss his best friend.

(If he’s being honest, he’s not entirely sure when they’d crossed the line from rivals to friends, when insults had turned to harmless bickering. He’s not sure when _toss to me!_ had stopped being an annoying declaration and started becoming an endearing promise to reach the top of the world together.)

_With you, I’m invincible._

(And he will never say this out loud, but Hinata is his first true friend in a really long time, and there is no way he’s going to let a couple of feelings take that away from him.)

(But still. He does think it would be nice to kiss Hinata. Just once.)

“Oi, Hinata,” Tobio says, his voice still groggy with sleep at the edges. “Wake up.”

Hinata doesn’t move at all.

“Hinata,” he repeats, a little louder this time. He can’t even move his arms because Hinata’s got an arm over his chest, locking both of his arms in place. “Dumbass. Wake up.”

He grumbles, and his eyes seem to shut tighter. Hinata moves a little closer, snuggles into Tobio’s neck, breath warm against his skin.

And if Tobio could barely move before, well, he’s completely frozen now.

This might as well happen, he thinks. And maybe the most infuriating part of this is that he can’t even lie to himself that he wants to leave, wants Hinata to get off of him—because he doesn’t. Because this feels _nice,_ feels domestic enough that he can convince himself that this is all real. Maybe he can pretend, if only for a moment, that Hinata would like to kiss him, too.

Tobio takes one more look at Hinata, watches as he dreams under the sunlight, and lets his own eyes close. Right before he lets sleep take him, he feels Hinata intertwine their fingers gently.

(When they do wake up, it’s like nothing is different. After all, this isn’t the first time. They detangle themselves from each other, yawn and stretch to greet the new day. Tobio calls him a dumbass, and Hinata laughs, a bright sound, as he leaves to shower first, leaving Tobio to sit on his bed and try not to imagine what it would be like to kiss the sleepy smile off of Hinata’s face.)

 

* * *

 

“You’ve been acting weird.”

“Dumbass,” Tobio says, but it holds no malice (it hasn’t for a long time now). “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Hinata shifts from his spot on the grass, inching a little closer, their knees touching. They’ve chosen a shaded area under a tree to eat lunch together, a little near the gym where they can practice once they’re finished. Tobio leans on the tree, chewing on his rice absentmindedly.

Hinata shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t understand you,” he says. “You can’t just say that, and not continue. How have I been acting weird?”

“I don’t know. You just—” Hinata makes a frustrated noise, squirming from where he sits. His cheeks are a little pink, eyes golden under the sun. “You just. You stare. A lot. At—at me. And I don’t—I don’t know why? Did I do something? Is there something on my face? Have I finally grown a second head that only other people can see? Because if I have, you gotta tell me, Kageyama, that’s like, your social responsibility as my best friend.”

Tobio breathes. There is a lot to unpack here.

(He is trying very hard not to scream as his brain moves at the speed of light, tripping over his own thoughts with reckless abandon.)

First:

“I don’t stare at you,” Tobio says flatly, praying to whatever gods out there that he’s not as red as he thinks he is. “Why would I want to stare at you?”

“I don’t know, Kageyama! You tell me, that’s why I’m asking!” Hinata is blushing hard now, his cheeks slowly matching the vibrancy of his hair. It starts off slow at first, a faint color that rises and settles, turning his cheeks red, spreading to his neck. “Whenever I look at you, you’re uh. You’re already looking at me.”

(And Tobio has only one thing to say about this:  _shit_.)

Has he really been staring too much? Sure, he looks at Hinata every now and then because they’re _friends_. And maybe also because he likes the look on Hinata’s face when he spikes the ball really well, or when he receives just right, or when Tobio tosses to him again and again and again, even when night has fallen and the stars are already making their way home, or when he’s thinking and his eyebrows furrow and it’s the cutest thing Tobio’s ever seen—

Oh. Okay.

So maybe he has been staring too much. He’ll have to tone it down a bit.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, barely even audible. “I’ll, um, I’ll try not to look at you as much, I—”

“No!” Hinata says suddenly, loudly. He blushes at his outburst, hands coming over his mouth. “I mean,” he stammers out, “I don’t really mind. You looking at me, that is. I just noticed it, and I wanted to tell you that I knew.”

He looks incredibly mortified, face buried in his hands, lunch long forgotten by his side. “Ugh, this is so embarrassing,” he says. And it’s terribly unfair, Tobio would like to point out, that Hinata still looks cute when he’s like this, all flustered and nervous. Maybe _especially_ when he’s like this.

Tobio allows a tiny smile to slip through. He doesn’t really fully understand the meaning of Hinata’s words—does that mean he’s _okay_ with Tobio looking at him? He doesn’t think it’s creepy or anything?

He doesn’t voice these thoughts, and instead mulls over the other thing Hinata said.

Second:

“I’m your best friend?” he asks softly, uncertain. Tobio doesn’t dare to meet Hinata’s eyes.

(Yeah, he’d considered Hinata to be _his_ best friend, but to know it’s reciprocated…it’s nice. The validation is nice.)

Hinata only laughs, all hints of nervousness and embarrassment suddenly gone. “Yeah, duh,” he says, grinning at him with a smile that makes his head spin, “I mean, who else would it be? You’ve always been my favorite.”

Tobio chokes on his milk.

“Are you—” Hinata asks worryingly, inching more forward now. “Are you okay?”

“Just fine.” With one more cough, he wonders how Hinata can look so innocent while getting away with the murder of Kageyema Tobio. Then he mumbles out, soft and quick, “You’re my favorite too.”

Hinata beams. Tobio cracks a tiny smile.

(Because really, was it even really a question? He’s not sure how it happened exactly, but Hinata had unapologetically barged into his life and carved a home there. Tobio’s seen the best of Hinata, the days where his spikes go to the right places, the moments when he flies on the court; and he has seen the worst of Hinata, the stubborn pride and the unwanted jealousy, the desire to win that only leads to destruction. He has seen the best and the worst of him, and he chooses both, over and over again.)

“Hurry up eating, dumbass, or we’re gonna be late,” Tobio grumbles out. Hinata does as he’s told, and Tobio doesn’t fail to notice how he’s still smiling.

And even though Hinata’s stuffing his face with rice, looking anything but adorable, Tobio’s fingers still itch to reach out and hold his cheek gently, and maybe—if he’s brave enough—press his lips to his.

He sighs, and shakes that thought away.

Nothing has to change, he repeats once more. Nothing has to change between them.

Hinata is important to him. He’s his best friend, and he matches all of Tobio’s tosses. He understands him like no one else does—like no one else _would_ —and he knows all of Tobio’s favorite milk flavors. He is the first person to actually care about him, to believe in him when everyone else had deserted him. He’s there, constant and steady, and Tobio wouldn’t trade that for the world.

He reminds Tobio of sunlit days, of the reassurance that the sun will still be there the next day and the day after that. The sun will always rise, and there is always a second chance to take. He reminds him that there is always a chance to change.

Tobio looks at Hinata again.

Nothing has to change.

(Oh, but how he wished something would.)

 

* * *

 

“Do you believe in ghosts, Kageyama?”

Tobio rolls his eyes. “What are you talking about, dumbass?”

They’re standing outside one of the gyms at the training camp, the wind blowing softly as they head to dinner. Tobio looks at him, and he tries to commit this image of Hinata to memory: the moonlight is enhanced by him, dancing around his skin like raindrops, turning him ethereal, otherworldly. He is brighter than the moon, a boy of the summer, unshaken, tilting Tobio’s gravity without meaning to.

“I’m just saying,” Hinata continues, “that if they were real, how many ghosts do you think you would have?”

“Does family count?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Hinata says, tilting his head. Then he lights up, a new thought already coming across his mind. “Hey, would you haunt me, Kageyama? If you died?”

“Of course.” He waits a beat. “Who else would tell when you’re being a dumbass?”

Hinata sticks his tongue out and punches him lightly. “I’d haunt you, too, Bakageyama. I’d steal all your milk so you can’t get any taller.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tobio says with a smirk. “Then I’d steal all your volleyballs.”

Hinata gasps, placing a hand on his chest dramatically. He’s clearly trying not to laugh, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “How dare you! Wouldn’t you want Karasuno to win their games?”

“They’d win without you,” Tobio deadpans. “Seeing as you can’t receive or block properly.”

“You know that’s not true anymore!” Hinata huffs, crossing his arms. (A part of him notes that it’s adorable.) Then he looks at Tobio a little more sheepishly. “Though that’d probably suck. You not being there anymore. I’d probably miss you.”

Tobio stares. “You’d miss me?”

Hinata colors, turning his face away. “That’s—I said _probably_. I’d _probably_ miss you. Not definitely.”

He snorts.

“What, aren’t you gonna say you’d miss me, too?” Hinata says teasingly. “Come on, Kageyama, even I know you have a heart. I’m probably the only one that does.”

Tobio flicks his forehead. “Idiot. I have a heart.”

(He does have a heart, but it doesn’t belong to him anymore. It hasn’t for a while now. Cheesy, he knows, but true still.)

“Then you’d miss me, right?” There’s something in Hinata’s eyes that Tobio can’t place. Hopefulness, maybe? Longing?

(But what would he be longing for?)

Tobio doesn’t look at him when he says quietly, “Yeah, idiot, I’d miss you.”

And Hinata breaks out in a grin, bright and wide and beautiful, making him a little breathless. Tobio sorts of wants to kiss him every time he smiles like that, every time his smiles are directed at him.

“Besides,” Tobio adds, “you said we’d make it to the top of the world, didn’t you? So don’t leave until then.”

Hinata’s smile is smaller now, but there’s an added layer of sincerity. It’s more genuine, more fond. “Okay, Kageyama, I won’t leave. I’ll be here.”

Tobio smiles, satisfied.

 _I’ll be here_.

“What brought it up, anyway?” he asks. He knows Hinata has a habit of bringing up the most random topics, can jump from one conversation to another with seamless ease, but it’s still a curious thing. “Did you see a ghost?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Kenma was trying out this new horror game earlier. I wanted to try it out, but I got scared just watching him.”

“Coward.”

“Hey!” Hinata exclaims. Then softer, he says, “He seems a little lonelier now, don’t you think?”

“Who?”

“Kenma,” Hinata replies. “The guy we’re talking about? Nekoma’s setter? Blonde hair?”

“Oh, yeah, him,” Tobio says. He’s an amazing setter, one who knows his teammates well and can control the game with a simple toss. Then he frowns. “What’s wrong with him?”

Hinata sighs. “I don’t know. He just seems—quieter, I guess? Last year, he’d usually be talking to Kuroo—Nekoma’s captain last year, the tall blocker, please tell me you remember him—but now that he’s gone, Kenma’s just. I don’t know. Lonely?”

Tobio hums in agreement. “Fukurodani’s setter, too, without their ace.”

“You mean Akaashi and Bokuto?”

“Yeah.”

Hinata doesn’t say anything. Tobio turns to look at him, and notices that his hands are fidgety. His fingers keep tangling themselves with each other before being forced apart, then it repeats. A nervous tic of his, Tobio’s long since learned. Along with stomach aches, stuttering, and scratching his arm.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, trying not to sound too concerned.

“It’s nothing,” he answers quickly, but there’s pink rising unto his cheeks. “It’s—um. Yes. Nothing.”

“I’m an idiot but not a dumbass, Hinata.”

Hinata shoots him a look. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” he says, sighing, “that I may be shit at Math and English and I may not know a lot of things, but I do know you. And something’s up, so spit it out already.”

Hinata blinks. “How was I supposed to know that’s what you meant?”

“Dumbass. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

He fidgets again. “I wouldn’t like that,” he mumbles out, “if that was me. Being separated from your best friend.”

Oh.

And then—

“Who said I was going anywhere?”

Hinata looks up at him to meet his eyes. His voice is small when he says, “What?”

Tobio tries very hard not to blush. “I’ve been here all along, haven’t I? I’m not—I’m not leaving any time soon.”

“Oh,” Hinata says. And there it is again—that look on his face, like he wants something he can’t have. “Oh. Good. That’s good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Hinata nods, smiling. “If you don’t leave, then I won’t leave either.”

Tobio smiles, and under the moonlight, Hinata is breathtaking. “Okay.”

(In another lifetime, this would have been the moment Kageyama Tobio finally mustered up the courage to kiss Hinata Shouyou. In another lifetime, this is when their lips would have met.)

(But this is not that lifetime.)

They continue walking to dinner, Tobio a little dizzy from the way Hinata had looked at him, like he knew all along Tobio would always choose to stay.

 

* * *

 

Tobio loves volleyball. This is no secret, this is normally the first thing people know about him. Because you can’t get this far without at least liking the game, you can’t keep going with the fiery determination if you don’t like what you’re doing. Tobio loves volleyball; he loves the thrill it gives, the adrenaline and the excitement, the way he gets to stand on court with the strongest people on the team.

He watches as the ball flies toward him, and he raises his hands over his head, poised for tossing. He knows where Hinata is (he always does), curves his arms in his general direction, and throws the ball.

Hinata spikes it flawlessly. They win the match.

The crowd goes wild, and it all feels so _real_ here, like this is where the starting line begins—with long moments of intrepid anticipation, the rhythm of thousands of heartbeats falling into nervous synchronization, firecracker souls holding their breaths on the brink of immolation.

Tobio loves volleyball because it makes him feel real.

(Oh, and because Hinata is here too.)

Tobio is grinning, and Hinata is blinding as he runs over to him, yelling in victory. The spiker tumbles into him, and they both fall to the floor, and if it were any other circumstance, Tobio would’ve reprimanded him—but it’s not everyday you make it into nationals for the second year in a row.

The rest of the team soon follows suit, laughing and beaming as they crowd each other. A little later, they all line up and bow to the people in the stands, thanking them for their support.

“We won!” Hinata yells as they make their way to the bus. “Can you believe? We actually won!”

Tobio waits for Hinata to slide into the seat next to the window before taking place next to him. “Yeah, dumbass,” he says, but he can’t hide the smile on his face, “we did.”

“That was amazing!” he continues on. “We were all like _pwah!_ and _gwah!_ They didn’t know what hit them! Obviously, a volleyball did, but metaphorically!”

“Your spikes,” he says, because he’s never been too good at complimenting others. “They were good. Your receives, too. Still could be better, though, but they were enough.”

His eyes shine, and if Tobio weren’t so goddamn tired from playing five matches in a row, he could probably think of something more coherent and poetic to describe how golden Hinata’s eyes look under the afternoon light. His thoughts do not do it justice as something warm settles in his stomach.

“Thanks, Tobio,” Hinata says easily—and he must have realized what he just said because he freezes up. “Uh, I mean—uh. Shit. Kageyama, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” he says, and Hinata looks just as surprised as he is at himself. “I don’t—I don’t really mind. You can call me Tobio—if you want.”

Tobio knows for sure that he probably looks like the sunset now, heat on his cheeks. He’s lucky everyone else is too exhausted to be eavesdropping, or he’d probably die from embarrassment.

“Oh, okay,” Hinata says, blinking at him. There’s a faint pink on his cheeks that deepens a on his face, like watercolor paint, spreading all over. Tobio notes that it’s the blush that seems to be reserved for him—the kind that only appears when he’s involved. It’s different from the ones that Hinata gets when Nishinoya compliments him, or when Tsukishima points something out that he’d done wrong. No—this one, that one that blooms like a flower, spreads all the way to his ears and neck—this one is his. This is Tobio’s blush.

“Then you can call me Shouyou, if you want,” he says. “That would be okay, too.”

“Okay, Shouyou,” Tobio says, testing it out. The name rolls right off his tongue, like it’s always been meant for him to say it. It feels _right_.

He blushes again, the same kind of pink from earlier. “Okay, Tobio.”

And in that moment, Tobio would really, _really_ like to kiss him.

(The next day, when Tobio turns to look at Hinata from across the court, he finds Hinata already looking at him, eyes wide with an emotion he’s never seen before. He turns away, and tucks the memory away for later.)

 

* * *

 

Nothing has to change between them.

He doesn’t have to lose anything, doesn’t have to risk the friendship of a lifetime to some stupid feelings. Nothing has to change because before anything else they are _partners_ , on and off the court; because before anything else, there is trust between them. Trust, that one will be there to spike the ball after a toss. Trust, that one will be there to smile at the other at their worst. Trust, that everything will be okay at the end. Trust, that nothing else matters as long as they’re together.

Nothing has to change between them, and Tobio will make sure nothing _will_ , because Shouyou is the best damn thing that’s ever happened to him and he wants nothing more than his best friend to _stay_.

And it’s easy in theory, really. It’s easy to say that he can ignore all his impulses to touch Shouyou’s cheek, easy to say that he can fight off the worry when Shouyou’s late to practice by even just a minute. It’s harder in action, especially when he wants to hold Shouyou’s hand, wants to pull him close, bend down and kiss him.

Terribly difficult, especially when Shouyou is wearing Tobio’s Karasuno jacket, the material too big on his shoulders but fitting in a way like he’s meant to wear it.

(He’d shivered on the way home, and he forgot his own jacket at home so Tobio had taken his off and offered it to him. It seemed simple back then, he hadn’t expected to feel like _this_ —how was he supposed to know that Shouyou wearing something of his would make the butterflies in his stomach suddenly learn how to do somersaults?)

His mouth is dry, far too dry for him to speak, as he watches Shouyou ramble on about his Math test, the jacket loose around his torso.

“You should’ve seen it, Tobio!” he exclaims wildly. “They added letters to the numbers! _Letters_! Who does that? How are you supposed to understand anything? It’s like they’re trying to get us to fail on purpose!”

And before Tobio can begin to further ponder on Shouyou’s theory about their teachers, he notices that Shouyou has gone silent. It’s an abrupt change, and it feels wrong, somehow.

Tobio blinks. “Why’d you stop talking?”

“You’re doing it again,” Shouyou says.

“Doing what?” he asks.

“The thing,” Shouyou answers vaguely, and Tobio can make out the beginnings of another blush on his cheeks. He doesn’t make eye contact either, instead choosing to focus on the street lamp behind Tobio.

“What thing?” Tobio asks. “If you don’t say anything, I can’t know what you’re thinking.”

“The _thing_ ,” Shouyou repeats. Then, softer, he says, “The staring thing. At me.”

“Oh,” he says, dumbfounded. It’s his turn to blush now, and he turns his face away. “Sorry. I—it was an accident.”

“Why do you do that, anyway?” Shouyou asks, and Tobio feels the ground fall beneath him. “Is there something on my face? There’s gotta be a reason you stare, right?”

 _Because you’re beautiful_ , he thinks. _Because you are summer and I am rain, and I want you._

Tobio doesn’t reply. He can’t, or a confession might spill out of his coward’s mouth. He can’t, because then he might lose the one beautiful thing he’s ever gotten stuck on.

“Tobio?”

When had Shouyou gotten so close? He could count the faint freckles on his cheeks if he could, and maybe count the number of his eyelashes while he was at it. Lips parted, eyes made of sunlight, gold and brown and bright—tied together with the same look he’d gotten that night at the training camp. It’s longing.

“You stare, too,” Tobio blurts out. “Sometimes. When I turn to look at you, you’re already looking back.”

“Why do you think I stare then?”

He’s closer now, close enough to kiss.

 _Nothing has to change between them_.

But he wants something to, doesn’t he? Desperately, recklessly, hopelessly, wants something to.

“Because you’re a dumbass,” he whispers, breathless.

“Yeah,” Shouyou says, “that, and because I really, stupidly like you.”

And then Shouyou is pressing his lips against Tobio’s, soft and warm. Their kiss tastes like the pork buns they shared for lunch, and it reminds him of every summer day he’s ever had. It takes him back to every moment that Tobio had wanted to kiss him—to the court, to his room, to the spot under the tree, to the training camp, to the school bus.

And mind you, Kageyama Tobio is not one for words. He never has been and he never will be, but the way Shouyou kisses him makes his thoughts turn into poetic prose, into sonnets and haiku, all the puzzle pieces of his mind falling into rhyme. He is the definition of the sun, bright and blindingly so, bound to keep and give warmth wherever he goes. He is sunshine pouring out of umbrellas, the right kind of goodbye, the story of a million lifetimes.

He’s everything Tobio’s ever wanted.

 _Nothing has to change between them_.

It’s like a snap, and Tobio breaks the kiss. Shouyou is looking at him, dizzying and electrifying, lips red and cheeks flushed. He presses their foreheads together.

“Um,” Shouyou begins to say.

 _I really, stupidly like you_.

And you know what? Tobio has finally decided. Let the change happen. Let it wreck him, let it come and turn his world upside down. Because if it means that he gets to kiss Shouyou one more time, maybe a hundred more times, then he’ll take it. Let him become fall apart, let him be destroyed. Because no matter his wreckage, if it means Shouyou will be there to take whatever’s left and put it back together, he’ll gladly welcome the destruction.

Nothing really has to change between them. Only one thing does.

“I really, stupidly like you, too,” Tobio says, and then he kisses Shouyou again, smiling against his lips.

Shouyou beams and kisses him back.

(Nothing really changes between them, after that. They still eat lunch together, they’re still in sync on the court, and they still bicker and fight and laugh at each other. They still race to practice, they still walk with each other home, they still wake up next to each other after sleepovers. They’re still _them_ , still Tobio and Shouyou, and nothing can really change that.

The one of the few things that does change, however, is that now Tobio can kiss Shouyou whenever he likes. And that, he finds, is the best kind of change.)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! <3
> 
>  


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